


It's Not Over Yet

by zoe19blink



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Anti Captain Cobra, Anti Hook, anti-captain swan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-10-06 13:40:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10335857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoe19blink/pseuds/zoe19blink
Summary: His parents split up, as parents do. But he got over it: still bitter, still annoyed, still using sarcasm to deflect human emotion, but he had bigger worries. Because now--nine years later--Henry is faced with the impending nuptials of his mom and her new boyfriend, Killian Jones. And no matter how much he torments the bastard, he's sticking around, like stubborn mold.It gets better, though: because Neal is moving back to town, and Henry doesn't want to get his hopes up, but he's SURE he can see sparks flying between his parents again.But nothing can happen until this Killian situation is remedied...





	1. Chapter 1

_Henry watched miserably from the front steps as his father lifted the last of the cardboard boxes into the truck. Uncle Jeff was already in the driver’s seat, blasting Aerosmith and strumming an air guitar—normally something that would have made Henry laugh. But not today: today, it felt like he was never going to laugh again._

_Everything was ruined._

_Emma stood behind him, leaning against the door with folded arms as she looked on with something close to regret. Neal kept his gaze carefully averted every time he went back into the house to retrieve something; usually ruffling Henry’s hair or giving him a little nudge, but ignoring Emma. Occasionally, he asked Henry to help him carry something, but other than that, he said nothing._

_That was somehow the worst part, the silence. Neal always had something to say: a joke, a sarcastic remark, a wry observation—a random fact that no one cared about and probably wouldn't remember in five minutes. The sound of his voice was something Henry hadn't realized he relied on so heavily, but now that it was missing… Henry squeezed his eyes shut, and tucked his head under his folded arms: he didn’t want to cry—he wasn't a baby, and only babies cried._

_“_ Everything’s going to be okay,” _they’d told him._ “It’ll take some getting used to, but it’s going to be okay. _”_

_How was everything going to be okay? His family was breaking up. They weren't even going to be living in the same town, let alone the same house! How was he supposed to get used to that?_

_“Henry?”_

_He looked up with tear-filled eyes, to see Neal standing over him, his brow knit in concern. For a minute, all Henry could do was stare at him, as if trying to memorize every detail of his face. “Dad…” His voice broke as Neal dropped to his knees, and threw his arms around his father’s neck, burying his face into his shoulder. “Don’t go,_ please _don’t go!”_

 _“Henry, come on, it’s okay,” Neal's voice soothed, though he held him tighter than he usually did, cradling the back of his head as if he really_ were _still a baby. “It’s okay, buddy…”_

_“Can’t I just come and live with you?” Henry mumbled._

_Neal sighed, and pulled back, keeping his hands on his shoulders. “Look…” he said quietly. “You know, I’d love that more than anything, but we’ve already talked about this.” He nudged Henry’s cheek, half-smiling. “New York’s too big a place, for a little guy like you. And you’ve got your school here, and your friends… your whole life is here.”_

_“Why do you have to go to New York, though?” Henry pressed. “Why can’t you just stay here?”_

_Neal closed his eyes, and shook his head. “That’s—that’s just how it’s gotta be for right now, okay?” he said tiredly. “Me and your mom—”_

_“Neal,” Emma warned._

_“Do you mind?” Neal raised his eyes coldly, a hard edge in his voice. “I’m talking to my kid, here.”_

_“Be careful what you say to him,” Emma returned. “He’s six years old, he’s impressionable—”_

_“I know how to deal with my own son, Em,” Neal said through his teeth. “And seeing as I’m not going to be seeing him every day, I think I have a right to talk to him without any interruptions, don’t you?”_

_Henry’s heart thrummed, a note of panic in his voice when he said, “Dad?”_

_Neal looked back at him quickly, the bitterness vanishing from his face. “I’m still going to see you, okay?” he said, gripping his shoulders more tightly.“Don’t even worry about that, Henry—we’re going to see each other all the time. And we’ll talk on the phone every day, all right? Every single day.” He held out his fist, trying to smile. “Still my partner in crime, right?”_

_Henry hesitated; then raised a shaky hand, bumping his fist against Neal’s. “Partners in crime,” he agreed._

_“Good.”_

_He pulled Henry back for another hug, his arms wrapped tighter around him than they’d ever been. “I love you, kid,” he murmured into Henry’s hair._

_“Love you,” was all Henry could manage. His heart was breaking into smaller pieces with every passing second, knowing that with each one, he got closer to watching Neal drive away in Uncle Jeff’s truck, off to New York—leaving Henry behind._

_When he finally let go, the world seemed to go completely silent, everything happening in slow-motion: Neal backing away, keeping his eyes on him for was long as possible, before turning to pull open the passenger door and climb inside the truck; Uncle Jeff revving the engine; Henry slowly standing up, barely aware of Emma’s hands on his shoulders as he watched the truck sputter forward and carefully roll out of the driveway._

_“Everything’s going to be okay,” Emma said for the thousandth time._

_Henry bit his lip, keeping his eyes on the ever-fading truck. “Your promise?”_

_He didn’t hear her answer; he didn’t even listen for it. No matter what she said, he already knew the truth:_

_No. Nothing was going to be okay._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“HENRY DANIEL CASSIDY!”

Henry snapped his head up, looking up from his screen as his mother’s voice raged downstairs. Her boots were already pounding up the steps, no doubt headed right for him. 

“ _Shit_ ,” he muttered, already hurrying to close up his laptop to hide it away: if she saw it, that would be the first punishment she thought of, to confiscate it.  He already knew he wasn't going to get away with his latest misdemeanor, but he’d rather shield the innocents than try to make a run for it. 

The door rattled as she grasped the locked handle, and furiously turned it. “Henry, open the door!” she called, her voice somewhat muffled. 

“All right, I’m coming!” he snapped. He finished securing the laptop safely under his bed, then picked his way over to the door, pushing his headphones ‘round his neck. With a flick of his fingers, he had it unlocked, and swung it open to Emma’s glowering face. He raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Don’t _what_ me,” Emma said dangerously. “You know perfectly well _what._ ”

Henry half-smiled, unable to help himself. “Is he still out there?”

“Leroy Mines found him, when he was out fishing this morning. _Despite your best efforts._ ” Emma folded her arms, glaring mutinously at him. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“Really?” Henry frowned, propping himself against the door. “It does _sound_ like me, doesn't it?”

“Henry…”

“Fairly in character, at this point.”

Emma shook her head. “It’s not funny.”

“Eh—” Henry shrugged. “Agree to disagree.”

It was really _Killian’s_ fault, more than anything: after all, _he_ was the one who’d had the poor judgment to teach Henry sailing.

 To be fair, he’d only done it to get on Emma’s good side, back when they were merely “seeing each other” (trying to bond with the kid, to cozy up to the mother); but now that he was the “soon-to-be stepfather”, he really should have known better than to trust Henry. There was no love lost between the two of them, whatever Killian pretended to Emma’s face, and letting Henry tag along to his evening sail ‘round the harbor was just plain stupid.

Because _of course_ he would have been completely drunk; and _of course_ Henry would have taken advantage of that. 

Killian had no doubt awoken to find himself (seemingly) in the middle of the open sea, with naught but an inflatable raft to keep his head above water, and panicked. Henry’s one regret was that he wasn't there to see it. 

“Where is he now?” Henry asked, peering around her as if to see Killian materializing in the hall. “I hope he’s not too badly shaken up.”

“Henry—” Emma dropped her head in her hands, half-whimpering in frustration. “You can’t keep _doing_ this!”

“What—spending time with Killian? Yes, please.”

Emma lifted her head, looking at him with a weary sort of concern. “Is this about your dad?” she asked. “This vendetta you have against Killian…”

Henry dropped his eyes, his sense of humor evaporating as Emma dredged up the all-too-familiar conversation. How many times had they stood here, just outside his bedroom, going back and forth over _what this was really about_ and how he was always _blaming Killian for something he didn’t do?_ Killian didn’t make his parents “grow apart”—it just happened, sometimes, didn’t it? Sometimes people fell out of love…sometimes they became different people, and they just couldn't be together anymore. 

Of course it wasn’t Killian’s fault. The guy was still a dick, but Henry knew that it wasn’t his fault his parents split up. It was _nine years ago,_ for Christ’s sake—Killian had only been there for two. 

“Look, Mom…this has _nothing_ to do with Dad.” Henry shrugged, giving her a humorless smile. “Killian’s an easy target,  and he’s a prick, but that’s it. I’m not trying to edge him out and get you to marry Dad again. I’m not six years old, I _get_ it—it’s not going to happen. And I’m cool with that,” he continued, already moving back to shut the door. “Go ahead, marry the guy—but don’t expect me to like him,’cause that’s _definitely_ not going to happen.”

Emma looked at him in exasperation. “Can you at _least_ make an effort to stop tormenting him?” 

“Ah, well— ” Henry caught the end of the door with tips of his fingers—“don’t really see that happening, either.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

“And there’s your coffee…” The waitress smiled as she tipped the carafe over his cup, pouring a stream of much-needed black coffee into his cup for the fourth time that morning. “By the way, sir—my manager asked me to remind you that we start charging fifty cents for every refill after the third.”

Neal looked over her shoulder to see the beady-eyed woman watching him from behind the counter. He raised his eyebrows, giving a little wave—which earned him a scowl and three warning fingers, reminding him that _cough up my fifty cents, or I’m sending you home in a body bag._

 _“Oy,”_ Neal muttered, dropping his eyes. Few things in this world were as intimidating as the suspicious gaze of penny-pinching old lady.           

After dropping a few quarters in plain sight (she seemed in need of reassurance that he was good for it), he moved the other things scattered over the table to make room for—

“ _CASSIDY!_ ”

—and a heavy backpack landed on the table, setting it to a rattle. Neal jumped, putting a hand to his heart.

“ _Jeff,”_ he swore, trying to catch his breath. “Jesus Christ.”

“Did I startle you?” Jefferson grinned, swiping the chair across from Neal to sit down. “I think it’s all that caffeine you drink, it’s making you jumpy.” He reached for Neal’s cup, inviting himself to a sip; and swallowed with a loud exhale. “God, that’s terrible.”

“And yours, now,” Neal said, making a face as Jefferson tried to hand it back. He pushed Jefferson’s bag out of the way, and raised his hand, signaling for the waitress. “Sorry, can I get another—?”

“No,” Jefferson said loudly; and pointed at Neal, fixing him with a stern look. “No more coffee, it’s already made you too jumpy as is, and I’ve got some… rather exciting news for you.” Without waiting for a response, he flashed Neal a winning smile. “I’m coming with you.”

“Absolutely not,” Neal said instantly.

“Absolutely _yes._ Neal—” Jefferson exhaled, dropping his head. “Look, with you moving back home, there’s no way I can afford rent by myself. What am I supposed to do?”

“Just get a new roommate!” Neal said exasperatedly.

“You’re practically my brother, I can’t replace you,” Jefferson scoffed. “Unless you’d be willing to stay in New York—”

“Which I’m not.”

“—then I’m forced to come with you.”

Neal stared at him, letting out a slow, tense breath. His resolution to move back to Storybrooke had been the result of a series of serious, mature, _adult_ decisions—things beyond Jefferson’s comprehension, it seemed. 

New York had been good to him, true. He’d enjoyed his job as an editor at a decently successful publishing company (which had been a stroke of impossible luck in the first place); but it was growing stale. There was very little room to move _up,_ especially when your boss was a recent ex-girlfriend who was still bitter and searched for new, creative ways to induce misery in everyday life. Tamara was beautiful and intelligent and charming—and very likely, _the Devil._

 _“_ Your face is doing that thing,” Jefferson said, interrupting his thoughts. “You’re thinking about Tamara, aren't you? Easy fix, man—I have one word for you that will change your life.” He spread his hands, a gleam in his eye. “ _Yoga._ ”

“I think I’d have better luck with holy water,” Neal said wryly. 

“You can't let her drive you out of New York,” Jefferson said, as though he hadn't spoken. “I know it was a messy break-up, but you can’t—”

“Tamara is _not_ the only reason why I’m leaving,” Neal said, raising his voice over him. “She’s a contributing factor, but…” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “It’s Henry.”

“Henry?” The humor left Jeff’s voice; his eyes turned serious at once. “Something wrong? What happened?”

“Nothing happened, I just—” he shrugged— “I miss him, Jeff. I’m tired of watching my kid grow up through a camera lens.”

“A couple of notes,” Jefferson said, holding up his finger. “One— _lead with that next time._ Don’t just say, ‘It’s Henry’, because I’m going to assume something’s wrong, and you _know_ how much  I love that kid, so if you scare me like that again?” He made a swiping motion across throat, hissing: “ _K-k-k-k!”_

“Sorry,” Neal sighed.

“Two—I really do think you should take up yoga. From what I hear, it’s just an excellent life decision, all around. _Three…_ ” Jefferson looked at him grimly. “You’re trading one devil for another, if you move back to Storybrooke. You may be getting away from Tamara, but Emma is going to be within spitting distance.”

“ _Spitting distance_?” Neal repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you ready for that?” Jefferson pressed. “Are you ready to bump into her and that _guy_ all over town?”

“Henry hates Killian on principle, I’m sure he’s not all that bad,” Neal said, tossing his hand dismissively. “Besides, it’s not like we’re going to be neighbors. I probably won’t even see them that much.”

He was hoping that if he put up a good enough front, he could not only convince Jefferson, but himself, as well. The truth was, being in such close proximity to Emma and “that guy” made him nervous. Every time he talked to Henry, the kid was grounded for another prank he’d pulled on Killian, and every time, the prank in question was increasingly malicious. He couldn't decide if he was angry with Henry, or proud of him.

Neal had never actually met Killian, but he knew that he and Emma had been together for the past couple years— _engaged,_ now—and they seemed…happy. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that: things had fallen out with Emma pretty roughly, but to say he didn't still care about her would be a lie. That was why he wanted her to be happy, and if that meant being with Killian…well, then, _mazel tov_ to the both of them. 

“Everything’s going to be fine,” he said out loud. “Your concern for me is touching, I mean it, but completely unnecessary. This is the right move for me.”

“I still think you should let me come with you,” Jefferson said, folding his arms. “What am I going to do in New York, without you? Without your rent money?” Before Neal could refuse, he quickly rejoined with, “I haven't had clients for _months,_ Neal. I’m broke.”

“Jeff—”

“Just ’til I get on my feet,” he went on. “Maybe your dad can introduce me to a few people, help me get started. The catering world is _cut-throat,_ I could use some of his upper-class friends to get my name going in the right circles. Please?”

Neal looked at him for a long time. Jefferson was irresponsible and exasperating, but…he _was_ his best friend, and Henry loved him. Maybe it wouldn't be terrible if he came along, just for a bit.

“All right,” he said finally. “Looks like it’s you and me, pal.”

Jefferson grinned. “You and me.”


	3. Chapter 3

 

Henry stood on his toes, trying to find any sign of his father among the baggage-laden crowd. “What time is it, anyway?” he asked. “Shouldn’t he be here by now?”

“Henry, it’s a good twenty minutes before his plane even _lands_ ,” Emma said, putting down her magazine to give him an exasperated look. “Just sit down, other people are trying to get through.”

“Your mother’s right, lad,” Killian said, not glancing up from his phone. “Getting in the way isn’t going to make your father get here any faster.”

Henry turned around, giving Killian a sarcastic smile. “Well, gosh, don’t I feel silly,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets as he sauntered over. “Here I was, thinking getting in the way would do _exactly_ that.” He stopped in front of Killian, ignoring the warning look Emma shot him. “Thank you for your wisdom.”

“Henry,” Emma began sternly, but Killian shook his head and reassured her with a murmured, “It’s right, love. Boys will be boys.”

“And there’s that wisdom again,” Henry drawled, swiveling on his heel to pace the short distance between them and the vending machine. 

He didn’t buy Killian’s _Mr. Sensitive-_ act for a minute. He’d seen how easily he transformed around Emma, when she’d walked in on one of their arguments: one second, glaring at Henry and telling him that he was lucky no one was pressing charges—and the next, wearing that _charming_ smile and sighing wearily at Henry’s antics. It would have been impressive, if it wasn’t so unnerving. 

A brightly-colored sign advertising Cinnabons caught his eye. “ _Whaaaaaaaat,”_ he murmured to himself, a smile spreading on his face. Forget Killian, who cared about Killian when _Cinnabons_ were involved? He shifted his backpack off his shoulder to check his pockets for cash, and started for the stand, weaving his way through the crowd. 

Ten minutes later, with a freshly-iced pastry in hand, he’d wandered over to the souvenir shop and was now sifting through overpriced keychains. The selection was pretty pathetic, since the tourist attraction in Maine only extended as far as lighthouses and trout, but there was one with a dolphin that looked kind of cool. No, no, wait— it was a trout.

“No sticky fingers, son,” a gruff-looking man warned from the corner.

Henry half-rolled his eyes, but pulled his hand back to reassure him it was empty. _Like any of this is even_ worth _stealing,_ he scoffed to himself. 

The hats and novelty T-shirts weren’t any better (and seriously, whoever’d thought putting lobster on a coffee mug was a good idea was an idiot); but it was better killing time here than waiting with Killian and Emma. She was always simpering at him, laughing in that way that made Henry’s skin crawl and his stomach turn. She transformed around him, just as much as he did around her: when Killian entered the room, she stopped being _Detective Swan_ and turned into a vapid, giggling moron. And once they were married, it was probably only going to get worse. 

“Look, kid, if you’re not going to buy anything, get lost,” the gruff-looking man barked, jutting his thumb at the exit. 

“All right, all right…” Henry held his hands up in surrender, his half-eaten Cinnabon still held between his fingers, backing away to placate the man. “I’m going.”

It was a relatively small airport, so there weren’t a lot of shops he could waste his time in while he waited for Neal’s plane. He found a restaurant that looked like served salmonella as a side dish; a few coffee joints that were manned by such miserable-looking people, he left before he got secondhand-depression; and the Starbucks was crowded with screaming children. But _anything_ was better than quality time with the soon-to-be stepfather. 

Fortunately, since the last stunt he’d pulled during their last outing, Emma no longer required him to spend _quality time_ with Killian. She’d given up trying to make them bond, and now just seemed happy if they could get through a meal without Henry trying something. Still….that didn’t mean Henry didn’t look for ways to ruin his day. It was _dedication_ to the craft that really made him a master: the pranks and the mocking were but the tools he used. 

His phone buzzed with a text, but it wasn’t even out of his pocket before it started ringing. Frowning, he swiped the screen and put it to his ear. “What?”

“Henry?” Emma’s voice crackled. “Where are you?”

“Looking for purpose in my life—why?” He perked up. “Is he there? Do you see him?”

“No, but he should be soon—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah—” He hung up, shoving the phone in his pocket as he broke into a run, racing back to the lobby. He wanted to be there the _second_ Neal showed up! Even if that meant barreling into that haggard father-of-three (“Sorry, I’m sorry!”)—that stressed-looking businesswoman (“Sorry, ma’m, my fault!”)—that security guard (“Just looking for my mom, sir! I’ll slow down!”). He dodged suitcases, swerved around bustling groups of arguing travelers, and nearly tripped over a toddler, but he made it back to the little corner by the vending machine where Emma and Killian were waiting.

“Here!” he panted, skidding to a halt. “I’m here, I’m here. Where’s Dad?” He swiveled around, still trying to catch his breath, squinting through the new flood of people pouring through the gates. “You see him?”

“Not yet, but warn me if you do,” Emma murmured, her eyes warily scanning the crowd. Killian let out a low chuckle.

“You sound troubled, love,” he remarked, his voice carrying despite Henry’s best efforts to ignore it. “Everything all right?”

Of course, it wasn’t, but Henry couldn’t _stand_ the hint of triumph in his words. He didn’t quite hear Emma’s muttered response—something about “awkward” and “been a long time”—but whatever it was, it made Killian do that annoying _tsk_ he did whenever he was trying to be comforting. 

“Not to worry, darling—”

“There he is!” Henry shouted, pointing as he caught sight of a familiar curly head. “Dad—DAD!”

Neal looked around at the sound of his voice, eyes wide as he skimmed the room for his son. Henry scrambled to the bench, waving his arms and calling him over: “Over here, we’re over here! DAD, OVER HERE!”

Neal found him, breaking into a brilliant smile; he pointed at him triumphantly, and started for him, dragging his luggage behind him. Henry leaped off the bench and ran for him, darting through crowd at top speed. Neal was barely past the tape before Henry barreled into him, throwing his arms around him in a tight hug.

“Hey, hey,” Neal laughed, dropping a suitcase to hug him back. “Easy, kid, easy.”

Henry pulled back, grinning. “Missed you.”

“Yeah, I missed you, too.” Neal stood back as Henry moved to pick up his fallen suitcase, then put his arm around his shoulders, ruffling his hair for good measure. “Your mom here?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Cool, cool, cool,” Neal nodded. “Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool…”

Henry shifted to raise an eyebrow at him, silently asking after the nervous tremble in his voice. He had the same wariness that Emma had, but was it because it had been so long since they’d seen each other…or because he was minutes away from meeting his ex’s new fiancè?

“Look, if you’re nervous about meeting Killian,” Henry said, “I just want to reassure you—he _is_ that bad.”

“I’m sure I can handle him,” Neal said, half-rolling his eyes. 

“I’m sure you can,” Henry shrugged. “He’s just really unpleasant.”

“Okay, Henry.”

“He _is.”_

It did seem to help, though: mocking Killian took the edge off, and by the time they reached the other two, Neal seemed to be his normal, relaxed self. Emma stood back with her hands in her back pockets, smiling uncomfortably at him. 

“Hey…” she said, looking as though she wasn’t entirely sure how to greet him. “Good flight?”

“I’ve had worse,” Neal shrugged.  “Guy next to me fell asleep on my shoulder for an hour, but nothing too bad.” For some reason, that seemed to amuse him: his eyes danced with mischief, a smile working its way across his face. “Speaking of…”

He glanced over at Henry, who was as bewildered as the others, and winked. “I brought you a souvenir from home.”

“A souvenir?” Henry repeated. That didn’t make sense. He already had tons of New York memorabilia, why would Neal even bother?

“Yeah.” Neal turned to look over his shoulder, raising his chin and squinting. “Think he lost his bag or something, but he’ll have given up by now.”

“He?” Emma echoed, frowning. “What do you…?” A look of horrified realization darkened her face, and she stared at Neal with dread-filled eyes. “Oh, don’t tell me—”

“ _Uncle Jeff?”_ Henry laughed incredulously, recognizing the tall figure clumsily emerging from baggage claim. He looked up at Neal, shaking his head in confusion. “What’s he doing here?”

“Yes, what _is_ he doing here?” Emma demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“I’ll let Jeff explain,” Neal dismissed. “It’s his disaster to tell, and it’s not that interesting a story. _But_ while we’re on the subject of interesting stories—” he swiveled on his heel, pointing to Killian—“you must be the boyfriend.”

“Um…yeah.” Killian side-eyed Emma uncertainly, before holding out his hand for Neal to shake. “Killian.”

“Neal.”

“And Lucifer, coming right behind you,” Emma muttered, just as Henry excitedly called out, “UNCLE JEFF!”

A half-asleep Jefferson pushed his way through the crowd, barely noticing as he bumped into people on either side. He was yawning, only _just_ holding onto the suitcase in his left hand, but at the sound of Henry’s voice, his eyes snapped wide open. 

“Henry!” he beamed, shoving his way past an old woman. He tossed the suitcase to Neal without looking, slapping Henry a high-five and laughing, “Shit, kid, you got _tall!”_

“I know,” Henry grinned, letting Jeff mess up his hair. “What are you doing here?”

“All in good time, young Cassidy,” Jefferson assured him, glancing over his head at Emma. A cool smile worked its way across his lips, and he stepped closer, giving her a once-over. “The real question is, what are _you_ doing here, Emma? Who’s running Hell while you’re away from the office?”

Emma twitched a sarcastic smile at him. "Hi, Jeff.”

“Miss me?” 

“Not even a little.” Emma out a hand on Killian’s arm, nudging him forward. “Killian, this is Henry’s Uncle Jeff. Jeff, this is my fiancé.”

“ _Mazel tov,”_ Jefferson said, sparing him a derisive smile. He took his suitcase from Neal, adjusted the bags around his shoulders, and nodded forward. “All right, people, we’re burning daylight. So—what’s the driving situation, and when can we eat?”

“Oh, he’s a bloody charmer,” Henry heard Killian murmur to Emma. She laughed, nudging him with her hip—a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by Neal. For a second, his eyes seemed to narrow, a shadow flitting across his face. But it was gone so quickly, Henry wondered if he’d imagined it. 

Meaningless, of course. It was stupid to even _think_ about reading more into it, there was nothing there. His parents barely _spoke,_ unless it was something to do with Henry—so why should Neal give a damn, seeing Emma with her new boyfriend? He shouldn’t. He _didn’t._

That shadow, though…If it had been anyone else, Henry would have said it looked like a flicker of jealousy.


End file.
